Going to leave for Toxic Town in the morning. I’m not looking forward to the drive. Yes, I’m a Scrooge. It’s possible that I’m also a !itch. We’ll call it 50/50.
In any case, tomorrow will find me, and millions of others, making way down the crowded interstate towards familial destinations near and far. We won’t be alone out there; a ridiculous number of overly zealous cops will be watching, as though we’re all bad boys and girls. They’ll wait, not so patiently, as they do a slow burn over having to work on such a holiday. Fun! They’ll set up illegal checkpoints here and there, because their presence on the interstate isn’t nerve wracking enough.
I, for one, have been practicing my Checkpoint Charlie spiel. It involves a lot of silence and trying not to laugh as I marvel at the rebel I’ve become in my old age. Oh, yes…I am brave. They don’t need to know that my bravery comes from the hope of possibly being locked up for the weekend, thus avoiding further Christmas frenzy. Yeah, yeah…jingle your own freaking bells, piggy. I’m an old lady, brimming with hormones that have forgotten their jobs. My boobs are living where my waist used to be. My hair… MY HAIR…is falling out due to stress. I am not in the mood for this weekend and making it harder will not help anyone.
Assuming the most likely outcome, and I make it to Mom’s uninterrupted, I might peek at the kids’ presents and tell them what they are just before they open them. Surprise, no surprise, ya lil shits! Now, one of you be a dear and fetch Auntie a whiskey…